


Pas de Deux

by GingerKI



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28022142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerKI/pseuds/GingerKI
Summary: Whatever fresh hell this was, she appeared to be alone in it.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 15
Kudos: 36





	1. Prologue: Wakey Wakey

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. In short, I do not own anything Joss would want and he owns a lot of stuff I do. I'm doing this solely to amuse myself and, maybe on a good day, entertain others. I leave that to them to decide.

Buffy came to with a gasp, bolted upright and immediately pressed her fingers to her neck to feel for a wound. Nothing. She was sure that she had felt _something_ on her neck right before everything had gone black. Not a bite, exactly. More like a pin prick. She blinked in her surroundings, trying to orient herself. It was dark but it was obvious that she was no longer outdoors. The icy drizzle and bone chill of the container yard was replaced by warmer, dryer air. But where? And how? And where was everyone else? It was silent, eerily so, and she had the sense of being in a large building, a place meant to be occupied by a lot of people. But wasn’t. Not at the moment, anyway.

Standing up, she realized something else that gave her pause. Her legs were bare. Her legs were bare because she was wearing a skirt, not the utilitarian black cargo pants she had put on for the evening’s mission. Then it dawned on her that her surroundings were as familiar to her as they were impossible, and not only because the location was thousands of miles from where, last she knew, she and a squad of slayers had been engaged in a rescue mission just a short hop, skip and a jump downriver from London at the Port of Tilbury. She shook her head in disbelief then took a few tentative steps out from the dark corner in which she had awaken and into an all-too-familiar hallway. A hallway that didn’t exist anymore. Hadn’t for years.

Walking slowly towards the glass trophy case she took in her appearance in the light cast by the emergency exit. Green top. White skirt with the cute applique on the front. Shrugging at her retro reflection she muttered to herself,

“Well, this can’t be good.”

Looking down she was not the least bit surprised to find the object lying at her feet and picked it up without giving it a second thought because that’s the way it had gone back then. Well, not exactly. Back then the building had been teeming with people, both living and, well, _not._ Whatever fresh hell this was, she appeared to be alone in it. No Principal Snyder. No Mom. No vampire Sheila. No Giles. No Scoobies. No…

“Fe, fi, fo, fum. I smell the blood of a nice ripe girl.”

**TBC**


	2. I know that time is elastic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'I Want You To Love Me' by Fiona Apple off 'Fetch the Bolt Cutters' (2020)

A sly smile unfurled across Buffy’s lips, despite the obvious wrongness and inevitable disaster of whatever the… was going on. His appearance might have convinced her she was dreaming if not for the circumstances that had precipitated waking up there. As vivid as her dreams of him tended to be, this didn’t feel like a dream. It felt _bigger_ somehow. It felt like _more_. Of course, if this wasn’t a dream then this version of him was legit there to kill her. With no ax-wielding Mom in sight. Of course, this version of her was a much better fighter. And was familiar with his moves. Intimately. A flutter of excitement coursed through her immediately followed by the familiar ache in her chest.

_Whatever this is, it isn’t real._

_He’s gone._

_For good this time._

_God knows, you made Willow check._

_And check again._

_And again._

There was no point in putting off the inevitable. She’d have to play this out, whatever it was. Slowly turning around, she couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped before the words came tumbling out.

“Do we really need weapons for this?”

Truer words had never been spoken. When it had come to one another, they had each been the only weapon needed to strike at the core of the other.

“I just like them. They make me feel all manly.”

_Flirt._

He dropped the pole. She dropped the ax. They had had an instinctive understanding of one another from the start. In contrast to Angel, there had been no tying herself in knots trying to figure him out. She had seen him clearly, and he her.

He took a step towards her and said, “The last slayer I killed... she begged for her life.”

Utter BS but she wasn’t about to call him on it. Eying him, she took a couple slow but confident steps forward. Seemed about right. She had never felt like a girl around him.

“You don’t strike me as the begging kind.”

The other version, the real version, had known better. He had known that he’d once had the capacity to compel her to beg under a very specific set of conditions.

“You shouldn’t have come here, Spike.”

If he hadn’t come to Sunnydale, hadn’t blasted into her life and refused to leave, he might still be out there living it up as the evil undead. Enjoying dog racing, Manchester United and Happy Meals on legs. She had been the end of him, his Waterloo as Giles would say. Okay, so maybe she hadn’t been there for the dusting that had stuck but she was the one who’d set him on that path when she’d handed him the amulet that had destroyed him in front of her eyes. The one that had spit him out in Angel’s office just a couple weeks later. Unbeknownst to her. To get wrapped up in Angel’s whatever. And dust a second time in as many years. For good.

_Willow checked._

“No. I've messed up your doilies and stuff. But I just got so bored.”

There they were, falling in step. God, it had _always_ been that way between them. _Easy._ Even as mortal enemies. Well, until it _wasn’t_ but that disastrous year _easy_ hadn’t been in the cards for them or, it turned out, virtually anyone they knew. He ducked his head and chuckled, a move that even in game face was so thoroughly _him_ that she was tempted to reach out and stroke his cheek, except that she’d likely end up with a dislocated shoulder for her trouble.

“I'll tell you what. As a personal favor from me to you I'll make it quick. It won't hurt a bit.”

Buffy could no longer contain the tenderness and affection she’d been carrying around inside of her every minute of every day since the last time she had looked into his eyes, so she didn’t even try. With a sad smile she replied sardonically,

“No, Spike. It's gonna hurt a lot.”

* * * *

It had been so long that Buffy had almost forgotten what a handful a Spike legitimately trying to kill her could be in a fight. The trophy case was no more, glass littering the floor of the hallway along with much of its contents. They were bruised and bloodied. The collar of his red shirt was dangling by a shred. Her shirt was also torn at the neckline, in a manner she noted with satisfaction that kept drawing his eyes to her exposed bra strap.

Maybe it was a sign that she was irreparably broken, but she reveled in the contact. Even her most vivid dreams never quite evoked his powerful physical presence. But that elbow to her ribs sure did. As did her elegant spin and answering kick to his solar plexus, which had the added benefit of giving him an eyeful (ah, the glory days of fighting in cute skirts and not the paramilitary gear she fought in now). She used the temporary distraction to get in another solid body blow and he grinned admiringly. She shrugged and smiled. They were far off script now, so evenly matched that this could go on all night.

_Wouldn’t be the first time…_

But only after years of dancing around and inexorably towards one another. This was technically their first waltz, even if the tune was different this time. Just as Buffy determined she had worn out the metaphor an opportunity presented itself (the bra strap again – that sex had been their subtext from the start was hardly a revelation anymore) and she took it, sweeping Spike’s feet out from under him. He went down hard.

“Ow!”

She was on him in a flash, straddling his torso and pinning his arms at his sides and he felt so solid, so _real_ that she thought she might cry. He was staring intently up at her with amber eyes, studying her in the way that only he had and, she understood with heartbreaking clarity, no one ever would again.

_Because this isn’t real._

_Because he’s gone._

_For good._

_Willow checked._

“Well, you got the drop on me, Slayer. Do your worst.”

_Been there, done that._

“Do your worst,” she repeated softly then inched back to settle lower onto the pronounced bulge in his pants – he could pound nails, of course – eliciting a gasp from him and shocking him out of game face.

“Hello, Cutie,” she offered with a sly smile as she drank in his handsome human visage.

Narrowing his eyes at her he asked, “What are you playing at, Slayer?”

“None of this is real, Spike. You’re not really here. You’re not anywhere, at least not where you can get to me or I can get to you. Not anymore,” Buffy asserted even though his gorgeous hard body beneath hers felt like anything but an illusion.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he replied with a shrug then continued, “Seen my fair share over the years. Can’t say there’s much surprises me anymore.”

“No?” she challenged with a roll of her hips that was… oh yes, that would do. He hissed; those beautiful blue eyes of his fluttering closed in the way they did when he was powerfully aroused.

“You’re pretty,” she offered conversationally when his eyes reopened to meet hers, adding, “And you know it. I wonder… How many sweet young things were lured to their deaths by your pretty face? Your pretty body? Your pretty voice? Your pretty words?”

“Use the tools you’re given. You should know that, Slayer.”

“Oh, I do…” She swiveled her hips, trying a new angle, and they moaned in unison. They were like puzzle pieces. It was truly ridiculous.

“So, that’s all, get me into a compromising position then stake me?” He raised an eyebrow at her, the one that happened to be her favorite.

“Maybe, maybe not. Do you care?”

“Fair point.”

Maybe she let her guard down or maybe she just let him. Either way, Buffy suddenly found herself on her back with Spike hovering over her. With a dangerous look in his eye. On the one hand, whatever the point of this… this… whatever the hell _this_ was, she’d be willing to bet the new outrageously expensive Italian leather boots sitting in her closet at home that the way she was playing this was _not_ it. On the other…

_It doesn’t matter._

_This isn’t real._

_He’s gone._

_For good._

_  
Willow checked._

He was still for what seemed like forever, deadly still as those beautiful blue eyes searched hers and searched again, as if she were the greatest mystery in the world and the only one worth solving. Resting his weight on his right side, he placed his left hand on her taut belly bared as her shirt rode up and remarked,

“I’d say tonight’s proceedings have taken a turn. Maybe you’re the one who’s not real, pet.”

“Nothing surprises me either, Spike. Not anymore.”

“Aw, so jaded for such a bitty slayer,” he observed in a tone that she knew he’d intended to be mocking but was undercut by his legitimate fascination with the sight of his own hand inching up her trembling torso. Or maybe it was that they both knew it wasn’t _fear_ she was trembling with.

Pushing the fabric up and up until he was caressing the swell of her right breast, she saw sincere wonder in his eyes as he confessed, “Can’t believe an innocent young thing like you would let a nasty, evil thing like me touch you like this. Figured you’d die first.”

She sighed, enjoying the sensation of those elegant, talented fingers then replied wryly, “That’s what it took, but that’s a long story. Besides, I’m not as young… or innocent as you think I am.”

“Is that so?” he replied, his eyes dancing with hers, then gave her nipple an insistent pinch through the fabric of her bra. She gasped, her body bucking beneath his. He chuckled, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Why you naughty girl. Whatever would your watcher, your friends, all the people you fight the good fight for say if they could see you now?”

“I don’t care.” In that moment, she truly did not.

_Because this isn’t real._

_Because he’s gone._

_For good._

_Willow checked._

“Come again?” he inquired with a furrowed brow.

“God, I hope so,” she responded then grabbed the hem of her top, now in the vicinity of her collarbones, and awkwardly tugged it over her head.

“Ya know, always reckoned the only thing better than killing a slayer would be f…”

“Yeah, I know, now shut up.”

Buffy grabbed Spike by the lapels of his duster and pulled him into a blistering kiss that went on forever, or at least until oxygen deprivation started to make her feel lightheaded. She could taste blood. Hers? His? Fuck if she knew; they had just beaten the snot out of each other. She was going to fuck this phantom Spike. Oh yes, she was. And on the literal ruins of her childhood because how fucking perfect was that? Because fuck it. Fuck high school. Fuck her calling. Fuck Sunnydale and its fucking hellmouth. Fuck the real Spike and his fucking sacrifice to close it. And fuck him for telling her she didn’t mean it. And fuck him for staying away the _one time_ she hadn’t asked him to because she’d had no fucking idea he had come back. And fuck him for dying again after fucking Andrew had spilled his fucking guts but before she could get to him and tell him that she’d meant it and hadn’t even realized how fucking much until after he was fucking gone. Fuck Angel and his fucking quest for redemption damn the death toll… Cordy, Wes, that girl from Texas Buffy had never met, and whoever the fuck else had died at his side. She knew there were more but fuck if she could remember their names. Fuck herself for getting there with her slayer army and Willow’s powerful coven just in fucking time to save Angel’s ass, no doubt in service of the fucking Powers That Be who couldn’t give a fuck about Spike no matter what he did never mind that he’d turned himself inside out for her of his own free will, but would pull out all the stops for their fucking golden boy. Repeatedly. And fuck herself for being no fucking different than Angel, racking up her own death toll. Ms. Calendar. Kendra. Tara. Anya. Amanda. Spike. And she was still fucking standing. Death wasn’t her gift; it was the fucking albatross around her fucking neck and fuck it.

_Fuck it all._

“Fuck me,” she growled.

“Plan on it, love,” he panted in reply.

This was familiar territory. Their fight had been foreplay. He snaked his hand between her legs to find her shamelessly, wantonly ready for him. He ruthlessly shoved aside her sodden underwear to slip his fingers inside her, exploring her as she made quick work of his fly and tugged on him with slayer strength until his eyes flashed amber.

“Could kill you,” he warned through gritted teeth.  
  


“Could. Won’t. Never do,” she shot back breathlessly as she dragged him into position.

Perhaps to make a point that he was the Big Bad, he slammed into her. Then froze, his expression morphing into one she remembered all too well. One she knew was mirrored by her own. Utter stupefaction at how _perfectly_ they fit. Like they had been made for each other, except they _so had not_ because they hadn’t been part of _anyone’s_ grand scheme, not even their own. It had been a long series of small steps, or more accurately missteps, that had gotten them to this. Had changed him, and for the longest time she had believed only him but now she knew better. Had changed her too.

They began to move in that way they did when he was inside her. Filling her and making her tremble. Foreheads pressed together. Perfect rhythm. She was louder, as usual, the sounds of her own moans, pleas and demands ringing in her ears. He was breathing, always breathing when he fucked her. Breathing in time with her. Breathing her in. The ghost of the man he had been had never entirely vacated his dead body. His beautiful dead body that did the most exquisite things to hers, made her feel so alive.

“I don’t…” he wailed as he pulled back to search her eyes again, his own eyes ablaze with a combination of desire, fear, anger and adoration even as he continued to pound into her as if he were trying to propel his entire being into hers.

“Understand? Don’t try,” she whispered then pulled him into a kiss.

He thrust impossibly harder, went impossibly deeper, and it was sweet torture. So cruel, this phantom, reminding her of what she would never have again. No one would ever fuck her like he did, know what she wanted, what she needed, and give it to her freely without judgment. She used to be ashamed of what he did to her, of what they had done together. Until she had tried again the other way. _The right way._ With a mortal. Had tried to move on. Play along. Play the role. Until she couldn’t. Because it had been exhausting, the pretending. And not worth the risk of hurting the guy in the event he suffer the misfortune of growing genuinely attached to her – a fate she was fairly sure in retrospect that he had avoided.

Buffy was close now, so close to the type of orgasm that sped along every nerve ending from the top of her head to the tips of her fingers and toes, that she could almost taste it.

_Taste._

She bit Spike’s neck, hard enough to draw blood, and heard him roar. It was not even a remotely human sound. He abruptly stopped moving.

“Steady now, pet. Having a bit of trouble controlling myself as it is.”

“No one’s asking you to.”

Raising himself up on his arms he looked into her eyes and his expression was hard, angry, as he accused, “So, this _is_ some kind of sick death wish then.”

He seemed poised to bolt so she locked her legs more tightly around his waist, set her jaw and stated, “This isn’t about death, Spike, and you know it.”

“Could kill you. Been fighting the part of me what wants to the whole time you’ve been pulling me into this perfect quim of yours.”

“You could but you won’t. Because then you won’t be able to have what you’ve always wanted from me. Someone to keep you warm. A place to call home.”

His eyes softened and he looked vulnerable, almost stricken, and oh she knew that expression like the back of her hand; many a night as she lay alone in the days, weeks and months after Sunnydale, she had replayed all the times she’d put that look on his face. She reached up to smooth a curl that had escaped its gel prison and said, “I know this isn’t real and I can’t do anything about what’s real, but this feels real and I can do this right now. I don’t want to deny you, deny us, anything _here_ that we were denied _there._ ”

“Buffy,” he murmured and hearing her name on his lips made her heart break all over again.

Well, fuck that. Her tattered heart was real, and this wasn’t. But Phantom Spike’s gorgeous body entwined with hers and his delectable cock still hard inside her were a reasonable facsimile. She’d had a shit night, closing out a shit week, topping off a shit year. The _only_ thing she had any interest in doing at the moment was _him_. And she wanted it all.

“C’mon, Slayer of Slayers, show me what you got,” she challenged with a not-so-subtle reminder of her superior muscle control.

He emitted a strangled laugh that reverberated through them both and began to move again, in earnest, fucking her hard, nailing her to the floor. She met him thrust for thrust, unyielding, fucking him the way she fought him. Like a woman. Like a slayer. Like Buffy. Like herself.

“Gonna make you scream.”

“You can try.”

“Gonna make you come so hard you’re gonna beg me to kill you to make it stop.”

“Never.”

“Gonna own you, Slayer.”

“Already own you, Spike.”

“Fuck!”

He shifted into game face and bit down, not on her neck but on her shoulder and, whoa, did it sting like a bitch but in the best possible way and then she was screaming and coming completely undone and sobbing his name and, for a few blissful moments, forgot who or where she was and everything else she had ever known.

When she came back to herself, she found him curled beside her on his side, sated and watchful, no doubt looking for any sign that she might stake him for so thoroughly defiling her. She shifted, the clammy wetness pooling in her underwear making her wriggle uncomfortably. He smiled then, a smile that told her he was enjoying the fact that she was covered in him.

She rolled her eyes but smirked then commanded softly, “Undress me.”

He nodded almost shyly then sat up and shrugged out of his duster, then turned to spread it out beneath him like a blanket. He gestured for her to scooch onto it, holding the end in place as she did. He was on his knees and she realized he had tucked himself back into his jeans while leaving the top button to his fly undone, no doubt in self-preservation as he’d anticipated her post-orgasmic mood. She sat forward, wincing as she was reminded of muscles that only Spike had ever properly worked out, and he unhooked and removed her bra then gently guided her onto her back. He removed her shoes then her skirt then her underwear, his eyes flashing with excitement at seeing her laid bare before him.

“Your turn. Take off your clothes,” she uttered, and he nodded once then stood up.

Phantom Spike was beautiful as he unselfconsciously stripped for her, revealing a body so perfect that her memories of it had occasionally made her wonder if she’d made the whole thing up. But no, there he was. Lean and muscular like a classical statue, and already semi-erect from undressing her and himself for her. She didn’t even need to touch him. Knowing that she wanted him was enough to get him halfway there. But they didn’t do things halfway.

“Come to me,” she ordered. And he did, over and over again until she drifted to sleep in his arms.

* * * *

Buffy awoke and was surprised to find that she was still on the floor in the hallway of a building that had been destroyed the better part of a decade ago, and that Phantom Spike was still by her side. Sound asleep. Dead asleep.

_So, not a dream. I didn’t think so._

Faint pinkish light was streaming in through the windows, so she nudged him. He didn’t budge. Oh right, heavy sleeper. She still had no idea what was going on but since she assumed that this version of Spike was just as unmixy with the sun as the original, it was probably a good idea to move into a room with no exterior windows while they figured out what to do next. She nudged him harder. His eyes fluttered open and he lifted his head.

“Bugger, I had one hell of a…”

“Dream?” She continued where he’d left off, quirking an eyebrow at him.

He blinked at her several times, taking in her state of dress… or… well, not. Then his own. He opened his mouth as if to speak then changed his mind. His head dropped back onto the floor and he muttered, “Bugger.”

“Spike, we need to get dressed and move to an interior room before the sun gets too high in the sky. Then we need to figure out what’s going… what this is.”

“Don’t think so, Slayer,” he replied with a sigh.

“Don’t think what?”

He turned his head to look at her and advised, “There’s nothing in here for us. Only one way out.” He nodded in the direction of the exit.

“Wait… what? You can’t leave now. The sun is rising.”

“Yeah? So, the sun is rising.”

“Hello, vampire! You can’t go out in the sun.”

“Said yourself I’m not really here. If I’m not really here then the sun can’t really hurt me, can it?”

“What? No… I mean, I don’t…” Buffy shook her head then began gathering her clothing.

“Listen,” she began as she slipped into her bra then turned her back to him and asked, “A hand?”

He fastened her bra then she turned back to him and continued, “I don’t know _what_ this is, and I need time to figure it out.”

She shimmied into her underwear then pulled on her skirt and pulled what was left of her shirt over her head, feeling his eyes on her the entire time. Finally, she turned back to him and said, “Well? What are you waiting for?”

He shrugged then set about getting dressed as she stood up and stepped into her shoes. Looking around she observed, “It really is dead quiet here. Like no sound but us. No birds chirping. No sound of cars driving by. No sound of any kind, actually.”

“Just noticing that now, pet?” Spike remarked as he buckled his belt.

“Well, I was a little preoccupied last night… and… oh God, what does it mean? It can’t be good.”

“Only one way to find out.” He nodded towards the door again then reached down to pick up his duster.

“Again, with the no. You can’t go out there and I’m not leaving you here. We’ll go to a room with…”

He slid into his duster then grabbed her by the forearms and looked intently into her eyes, “And I’m telling you that there isn’t anything here for us. We don’t belong here. The only way is _out._ ”

“No, we can’t, I won’t let you…”

_Burn._

_Again._

_Even if it isn’t really you._

“Do you trust me?”

_Never._

_Always._

Buffy nodded. Phantom Spike smiled at her the way the real Spike had towards the end of that last year in Sunnydale. Affectionate. Resigned. A little sad.

“I’m telling you that we have to leave here. There is nothing here for us.”

He looked over his shoulder and she followed his gaze up the hallway into an inky darkness that appeared to be moving then continued, “My gut’s telling me we have to go and, whatever happens, I need you to know that it’s going to be alright, Buffy. You are going to be alright.”

“What about you?”

“I have everything I need.”

“What does that even mean?”

  
He kissed her then and she realized that she was crying. She was crying because she knew. She knew that this was no phantom. This was Spike. She had no idea why or how, but he was really here with her. Only it felt like goodbye. Again.

“I won’t let you go again.”

“Then don’t,” he said, taking her by the hand as he stepped beside her.

“Don’t let go. Promise me you won’t let go.”

“Can’t promise that, love, because I don’t know what’s on the other side of that door. But I promise to try.”

“Well, I won’t let go. Not this time, Spike.”

“C’mon, pet,” he said as he coaxed her towards the door.

Just as he hit the crash bar, she squeezed his hand tighter and declared, “I love you!”

He turned and smiled at her as they were both engulfed in blinding light then everything went dark again but she could still feel his hand holding hers and smiled. Squeezing his hand, she muttered, “I told you I wouldn’t let go, you idiot.”

“She’s waking up. I’ll get somebody.”

_Huh?_

“Was that Willow I heard? What’s going on? Where are we, Spike… Spike?”

“I’m sorry, Buffy, no,” came the reply with a squeeze of her hand.

Blinking her eyes open she croaked, “Angel?”

  
“Hi, Buffy.”

**TBC**


	3. People like us, we play with a heavy balloon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Heavy Balloon' by Fiona Apple off 'Fetch the Bolt Cutters' (2020)

“Any dizziness? Nausea?” the doctor asked as she shined a light in Buffy’s eyes for the 9000th time since she woke up.

“Nope,” she replied brightly, hoping her buoyancy would score her a ticket out of the Council infirmary.

“Right, well, reflexes and vitals are good, bloodwork is normal, so I see no reason to keep you here… so long as you promise to head home straightaway and spend the weekend resting. Leave patrol to others until I see you again early next week to clear you to resume normal duty. Understood?”

“Loud and clear!” Buffy replied with a salute.

“Hmm,” the doctor responded with a quirk of an eyebrow then advised, “I’ll see to your discharge paperwork while you get dressed. If you face any sort of setback over the weekend, have someone drive you back. Do not drive yourself, do you understand?”

“Believe me, you wouldn’t want me driving even if I hadn’t been roofied with demon goo. Never really got the hang of it before I moved here, and the sides changed.”

“Will there be someone to check in on you or preferably stay on with you for a few days? You were injected with a healthy dose of a powerful psychotropic compound that we’ve never seen before. We’re not entirely sure what lingering effects there may be and, truth be told, I’m not sure a woman of your build would have come out of it were it not for your slayer constitution.”

“That’ll be me,” Willow piped in.

“It’s really not necessary, Will. I feel fine.”

Physically. Emotionally she felt like she had been dragged across a continent by a team of horses… ornery horses, but she had long ago learned to conceal that type of pain. Last thing she wanted was a consult with a Council shrink. All she wanted was to go home, take a long bath, lick her wounds and try to process the latest in what was apparently destined to be an endless parade of mindfucks for as long as she lived.

“It’ll be fun, like old times. We can watch old movies. Eat junk food… that’s okay isn’t it?” Willow tacked on, addressing the doctor.

“Yes, you may be a bit queasy for a day or two but should eat what appeals and you can tolerate, preferably at least some nourishing, healthful items. No alcohol or other recreational substances, full stop.”

“No problem,” Buffy replied as she sat up straighter in bed.

“Fine then I’ll leave you to it,” the doctor declared and was gone.

“I brought you fresh clothes, sweats and a long-sleeve t-shirt. Figured you wouldn’t want to put on the clothes they brought you in with.”

“Thanks, Will,” Buffy responded as she took what she recognized as one of her backpacks from her friend then added, “Angel sure beat a swift retreat. What was he even doing here? Like, on this continent?”

“He happened to be passing through on some business when he heard.”

“So, he came here to watch me be unconscious then promptly got up and left when I woke up? Typical,” she remarked as she dug through her backpack.

“Well… I think he felt a bit… I don’t know… awkward, I guess. You said Spike’s name. Like a lot.”

“Oh my God, he’s still having a pissing contest with someone who doesn’t exist anymore?”

“Maybe… a little, but I don’t think that’s really it. I think he feels… guilty, and you’re probably not going to believe this, but I think he’s… I think he misses him too.”

Buffy scoffed then reached back to untie her hospital gown and inquired, “Is he bailing for L.A. right away?”

“No, he said he’d stick around to make sure you’re really okay before he heads back. He left me his local address.”

“Whatever, he can wait. I want to get the hell out of here and scrub the hospital crud off me. Do you have any idea what they did with my shoes?”

* * * *

“Would you like some more tea… or… or I can put on another movie?” Willow offered with an encouraging smile. Her sweet, loyal, brilliant, terrifyingly powerful friend. Oh, how Buffy loved her.

“Maybe I… I think I might try to take a nap.”

She was tired. So tired that her eyes pinched, and she had that dull headache she got when she was sleep deprived. After returning from the infirmary and taking that long bath she had gone straight to bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. When she had finally drifted off it was only halfway, slipping in and out of semi-consciousness until the sun came up and she gave up.

“Not so much with the sleep last night?”

“No, maybe it was all the sleep I got while I was… you know.”

“I don’t think it works that way,” her friend advised. She shrugged.

“Nap away. I’ll use the afternoon to plan something amazing for dinner,” Willow continued as she reached over the arm of the sofa to pick up her laptop.

“Scouring the web for the best takeout menus?”

“They call it _takeaway_ here and, you know me, I'll leave no stone unturned until I’ve found the perfect dinner for a lazy Saturday at home.”

Buffy smiled then stood up and walked to her bedroom door where she offered over her shoulder, “I’m really glad you’re here, thanks.” Willow’s only reply was a smile and a nod then she turned her attention to her laptop.

Closing the bedroom door behind her, she flopped onto her back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling for a long time. She felt oddly disconnected, like she wasn’t fully inhabiting her own body, and wondered if it was an after-effect of being drugged or just the overall trauma of being attacked. She slid her hand under the collar of her shirt and touched her shoulder. There was no scabbed-over wound, of course, even if his bite had felt more real to her than the hairline crack in the ceiling above her bed that she had seen a hundred times and was staring at now. She allowed her eyes to slip closed to conjure him. His eyes. His smile. His voice. His touch. A few tears rolled into her hair, but she didn’t reopen her eyes. She did her best to hold onto him until her body took over and she fell into the deep, healing sleep she needed.

* * * *

She awoke in total darkness and bolted upright to scan her surroundings. When she realized she was in her own bedroom she sighed and relaxed. Napping from day into night had disoriented her for as far back as she could remember, even as a small child. Even more so since she had been called and, after the previous 48 hours of her life, she wondered how long it would be before waking up in her own bed wasn’t a _Where the hell am I?_ proposition. Rolling her eyes, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stretched her arms over her head. She felt better, physically anyway, but that was slayer healing for you. Too bad it didn’t extend to emotions but then slayers had been designed to live solitary, short lives and their emotional well-being had never been a priority for the men who’d wielded them as weapons for millennia in the grand fight between good and evil.

“Assholes,” she muttered under her breath as she hauled herself up.

When she got to the door, she heard soft-spoken voices on the other side of it and furrowed her brow. At first, she thought Willow might have put on another movie or maybe turned on the evening news. No, one of the voices was hers, and the other was a surprise but not an unwelcome one. Buffy opened the door to find Xander sitting beside Willow on the sofa. He looked up and smiled at her and it was like a warm hug. She smiled back.

“Well, I guess everyone really did think I was a goner for Xander Harris, international man of mystery, to make an appearance.”

“Hey Buff,” he said as he met her in the center of the room for an actual warm hug and whispered into her hair, “I’m so relieved that you’re okay.”

_Define okay…_

“You know me, I’m like one of those inflatable clowns that pop right back up when you knock them down,” she quipped as they stepped out of the embrace then added, “On a related note, what time is it? Now that I’ve actually slept, I’m starving.”

“Almost 6:30… and your timing is perfect. Xan brought Thai food from the place we like,” Willow replied as she climbed off the couch then waved them towards the kitchen.

* * * *

“What _really_ pisses me off about the whole thing is that the ringleader, who could have led us to the Big Bad, got away,” Buffy stated with a frown as she surveyed the scant remains of their green curry, holy basil and chicken wings.

“But the team rescued a shipping container full of kids,” Willow pointed out.

“You’ll get ‘em, Buffster. You always do,” Xander offered.

She nodded but didn’t say anything as she continued to stare blankly at the mostly empty takeout containers. They sat in silence until she looked up in time to catch her dear friends exchanging a knowing glance. Xander cleared his throat.

_Uh-oh._

“I’m alright guys, seriously.”

“No, you’re not, and you haven’t been for almost ten months,” Xander stated.

“But with time you will be,” Willow added.

She shot her most intimidating ‘we are _so_ not going there’ glare at one then the other but was met with zero signs of intimidation, only expressions of loving concern. _Shit._

“So, I muttered his name a few times while I was in a drug-induced stupor.”

“It’s more than that, Buffy. Dawn called me right after Willow called her when you were brought to the infirmary. She told me that she’s been afraid something like this would happen, that she’s been dreading getting a call like that ever since she left for Japan. I had to talk her down from ending her gap year gig early and rushing back here. Since I was already in Tangier, I promised her that I’d hop on the ferry to Tarifa then catch a flight up here. That’s how I got her to agree to stay put because I knew you’d beat yourself up if she bailed on that opportunity.”

“Oh my God,” Buffy groaned, dropping her head in her hands, appalled at the idea that her sister had spent a single moment of her time away worrying about her rather than enjoying every second of an adventure of the good kind that would have been beyond either of their wildest dreams less than two years ago.

“You shouldn’t feel guilty that people care; that they worry about you. That’s… I think that’s where we haven’t been great friends to you. As long as you could stand up and fight, get up again when you were knocked down, we told ourselves that you were fine and… we didn’t… wouldn’t look past that,” Willow acknowledged.

“I can only speak for myself but you’re our rock, Buffy, and nobody wants to think that their rock might be crumbling, even a little bit,” Xander explained then added, “And I’m sure the shit I gave you over Captain Peroxide… um, Spike…” he corrected when he felt Willow’s eyes on him then continued, “when he was around, didn’t make it any easier for you to tell us how you were feeling after he was gone. But we’re here now, Buff, and we get it.”

“You do? Because I don’t,” Buffy muttered, blinking away from their gaze.

“Nobody judges… what you were to each other. Not anymore. What he did… for you… for all of us. He died a hero, Buffy, fighting the good fight. Twice,” Willow stated emphatically.

“It’s not that. I _know_ that. It’s… after Angel… there were all these _big feelings._ I felt like I wanted to die all the time, it hurt so much. This… it’s different. Some days, I get up, do the things I need to do that day. Go for a run. Pay bills. Head to HQ. Train. Patrol. Come home. Heat up dinner. Check email to see if there’s anything from Dawn. Watch TV, read, whatever. Other days, I wake up, open my eyes and it’s like someone’s rearranged all the furniture on me. It’s like nothing makes sense. Sometimes I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Been there,” Willow stated.

“Done that,” Xander added.

Buffy looked up at her two oldest friends and something inside her twisted. They had all lost so much for people barely into their mid-twenties. They were veterans of a war that didn’t make the news. Nobody put up yellow ribbons for them.

“And when we lost the love of our lives, we only had to do it the once,” Xander commented with a shrug.

“Love of my…?” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief. She had to be hallucinating again because Xander Harris had just referred to Spike as the love of her life.

“Yeah, even I have to admit that a guy who volunteers to sacrifice himself to close a hellmouth and save the world was probably the real deal. I’m so sorry, Buffy.”

“Me too,” Willow offered with such empathy and compassion in her voice and expression that Buffy lost it, breaking down in body-shaking sobs. In an instant she felt herself encircled in the arms of her best friends.

* * * *

_Good thing I’m off the sauce this week because there goes my beer money._

Buffy paid the cabbie then climbed out of the car in front of the address Willow had given her. While she knew that she was fully recovered, trying to convince the friends fussing over her that she could take the Tube without ending up face-first on the tracks hadn’t been worth the effort. There were murmurings about coming with and she needed to do this alone. She lumbered up to the door and knocked once.

“Come in, Buffy, it’s open!”

She had called ahead so he was expecting her. Turning the large brass knob, she opened the door and stepped inside then quickly closed it behind her to shut out the sun now peeking from behind the clouds after morning showers. She turned to see him standing in front of a large hearth in which a fire was burning. Dark shirt. Dark jeans. Dark everything. Handsome as ever. She had to press her lips together to stifle a smirk when she heard Spike’s voice in her head.

_“You know the ponce posed like that for you, right?”_

“You’re looking better,” Angel offered as he gestured for her to take a seat.

“Considering the last time you saw me I was unconscious in a hospital bed, I hope so,” she replied as she crossed the room to take a seat in a wingback chair. Blood red. On brand. She liked it.

He took a seat adjacent to her on the sofa and offered, “I’m sorry I didn’t stick around longer the other night. I figured I’d just be in the way.”

“No worries, I’m used to it.”

“Ouch. _Touché.”_

She sighed then sat back in her seat and contemplated the ceiling for a few moments before beginning, “Let’s just… _not,_ alright? No verbal gymnastics. No avoiding what needs to be said. No ignoring the elephant in the room squeezing us into a corner.”

“Okay…”

“The elephant is Spike,” Buffy stated as she pointedly met Angel’s eyes. He blinked away from her gaze and nodded.

“When you came to Sunnydale, at the end, I wasn’t being entirely honest with you. In my defense, I wasn’t being honest with myself either. The fact of the matter is that we were already over. Really over. Had been for a long time.”

“Because of Spike?”

“No, because we aren’t who we were then. So much has happened since you left. To both of us. I grew up, Angel, and so did you. For crying out loud, you’re a father.”

“I’ve never stopped loving you, Buffy.”

“And I’ve never stopped loving you, but the girl who dreamed of being with you, who pined for a happy ending to our tragic love affair, is gone.”

“And Spike?”

“Was there. For all the stuff you weren’t. For Dawn, my friends, even when I _wasn’t._ He was there when I grew up.”

“I know there were things he could give you that I couldn’t but…”

“This isn’t about sex, Angel. We weren’t in a physical relationship at the end, but I realize now that he was every bit my lover… my love. Spike and I hit rock bottom and were able to come back from a really dark place to build something better, something real. You and I… we… we never really did, did we? Then you left. It took almost two years of feeling like I was losing my mind. It took losing him _twice,_ but I finally get it. I was yours, for a long time, but you were never really mine. Spike was mine for a long time, but I was never really his… until he was gone. Now I’m his, he’s gone, and I have to figure out how to live without the pain in the ass. God…” She chuckled mirthlessly then added, “He’d probably find this hilarious.”

To his stricken look she responded, “I’m not saying these things to hurt you. I really do love you, Angel. We go back forever. You knew me then, knew what it was for me to be _The Slayer_ when there was only one girl in all the world, and with everything, everyone, we’ve lost and how much everything has changed, that matters to me. A lot. It means everything to have people who knew me then, who understand where I came from, what I lived. When we cross paths, I want to be able to enjoy your company, or ya know stop an apocalypse together, without _this thing_ between us making it awkward. I needed to be honest with you.”

He nodded and with a frown replied, “It’s not just that, Buffy. It’s… if I hadn’t sown so much doubt, about his place in your life, maybe he’d have left once he was able to. Maybe he’d…”

“Andrew told me that he swore him to secrecy. I don’t blame you for Spike’s death. Not anymore. I might have, for a while there, but he was in that fight because he wanted to be. Ever try to get him to do something he didn’t want to do?”

“Repeatedly,” Angel replied on a sigh. Buffy smiled a kind smile. Willow was right, he was grieving too.

They were silent for a time until he confided, “I signed it away, a chance to be human. I thought there might be a chance for him… if he survived.”

She snorted and commented, “Human? Spike? He’d have been outraged, probably would have gone right out to try to get turned again.”

“He fought me for it! Well, not _it_ because _it_ turned out to be a cup of Mountain Dew… long story, but he fought me and that time he beat me.”

“If he fought you for it, it was only because _you_ wanted it so much. Spike loved being a vampire. He loved being super strong. He loved the fight. He got a kick out of it. He’d have been bored stupid as a human.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Angel agreed with a melancholy smile.

**TBC**


	4. But now I only move to move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the track 'On I Go' by Fiona Apple off 'Fetch the Bolt Cutters' (2020)

Buffy’s eyes fluttered open. She was lying on her side, facing the wall of her… no, facing the wall of a room with a window and a picture hanging beside it. A room but not her room, not the room she’d dragged herself into after a long night of patrol, flopping onto her bed without even bothering to undress after a short detour to the john to take care of business, splash water on her face and brush her teeth. Pushing herself into a half-seated position she blinked into the darkness then turned around and gasped. There, seated in the comfy chair by the door, was his moonlit silhouette.

_Seriously?_

“So, this is how it’s gonna be? You show up every couple months to relive old times and make me miss you all over again? What is this? Payback?”

“I’m sorry… I… do I… do I _know_ you?”

She blinked in confusion then reached over to switch on a bedside lamp. The light confirmed what she already knew. She was in a room familiar to her even if she had only spent a single night of her life in it, one of its last two occupants because, in keeping with a theme, the room, the house it was in, and the street the house was on were all at the bottom of a crater thousands of miles away. The appearance of the other occupant gave her pause because he didn’t look like he had that night. This wasn’t vintage Spike complete with duster, hair bleached and gelled into submission, full of swagger and only too ready and willing to call her on her bullshit. This version resembled the Spike she had encountered when he’d first returned to Sunnydale… after. Sans duster. Deep roots. No gel. No attitude.

_He looks afraid._

Well, wasn’t this just perfect. She wasn’t going to relive the night he’d shown up – devoted and determined – to lift her up when she was on the verge of giving up, the night they’d finally put to rest their demons (or had at least started to, they never got a chance to finish), the night she’d come closest she’d ever been to having the kind of life partner that someone like her needed. No siree Bob, she was staring into the achingly handsome face of a phantom who looked a lot like the wild-eyed, haunted, tormented creature she had first encountered in the high school basement after a summer spent ricocheting between relief that he hadn’t been there and fear that he had been gone for good.

_Someone has a really shitty sense of humor. Maybe that someone is me. Me and my totally fucked up mind._

“You don’t know me?”  
  


“I…” He blinked then continued, “Should I? I… glad you’re awake, though. Couldn’t wake you. Tried. Was afraid… afraid for you. Tried to go out… get help. Trapped. Couldn’t open the front or back door or break a window, wouldn’t budge and I’m… I’m rather strong… very strong, actually. Have a condition, genetic or whatnot.” He shrugged.

_Jesus, he doesn’t even know what he… who he is._

Moving gingerly to the end of the bed, she folded her legs over the edge and spoke in a soothing voice, “I’m Buffy, what’s your name?”

“Don’t know for sure but my landlady, she calls me William. Says it suits me.”

_Landlady?_

Buffy shook off the mental question mark, reminding herself that he wasn’t real, so it didn’t really matter. What was important was working through this… whatever this was (again) so she could wake up in her own bed or maybe a hospital bed again (Jeez, had she fucked up on patrol again and never really made it home?), be sad, and get on with it. But how? Last time, remembering who he was… at the end, seemed to have triggered it. Of course, she had a sane Spike to work with that time. A bloodthirsty killer hellbent on making her the third notch in his belt but still, that version could be reasoned with. To a point. Reasoning-wise this was a giant step in the wrong direction, but what choice did she have but to try?

“How did you get here?”

“Dunno. Just woke up here.” He shrugged.

“In the chair.”

He looked away from her. Shy. Embarrassed. “No,” he muttered.

“Not in the chair? So, where?”

“Rather not… wouldn’t want you to think…”

_Oh… oh my God, how cute._

“Were you… over here? With me?”

“I’m sorry!” he offered miserably.

“It’s… it’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

“Don’t like this place. Not a good place.”

“It’s okay, Sp… William, I think you can help me get us out of here. I think I just need to make you understand, to remind you.”

He met her eyes inquiringly to which she added, “Remind you who you are.”

_Who you were._

“You don’t know me… do you?”

“I think I do.”

* * * *

He looked incredulous and more than a little insulted by the suggestion. The effect was adorable.

“I? Me, a vampire? No.”

“That would explain the strength.”

“So, everyone who’s strong is a vampire? Watched a powerlifting competition on telly the other day. They all vampires too?”

“What do you eat?”

“What my landlady fixes for me, does my meals… part of my room and board.”

_What’s with this landlady? Is he in purgatory or something? Purgatory with television? And powerlifting? And rent?_

“And… they are?”

“Steaks mostly.”

“Very rare… and very bloody?”

“That doesn’t… lots of people eat their meat rare. Healthier, get more vitamins that way. Does up a lovely soup for me too, family recipe from where she came from, Poland, I think,” he added indignantly.

Buffy thought for a moment, summoning a memory from work, then it came to her. Janina, a slayer from Poland, had mentioned in a lecture about blood lore that her mother made a soup from duck’s blood. Subsequently, Giles had explained that several cuisines featured blood as an ingredient since wasting such a nutrient-rich product of precious livestock would be considered wasteful in many cultures.

Smirking, she probed, “So, when was the last time you hit the beach? Hung out in the park on a sunny day?”

“Oh right, I’m a night owl so I must be a vampire. Sun’s no good for you anyway, what with the UV rays and premature aging.”

“Trust me, you don’t have to worry about aging. What about mirrors?”

“What about them?” He squirmed in his seat and looked away from her.

“Ever wonder why you don’t see your own reflection in them?”

“Wouldn’t know. Avoid them. Don’t own any.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t think I’d like what I see staring back at me.”

“What do you think you’d see?”

“A bad man.”  
  


“What makes you say that?”

“Don’t know, a feeling is all. That I hurt people that I…” His voice was low, barely above a whisper when he tacked on, “Hurt the girl.”

Buffy stiffened, her breath catching. She swallowed hard and inquired, “What girl?”

“Don’t recall,” he muttered, still not meeting her eyes.

Then he brightened and, looking up at her, declared, “But I _am_ strong.”

“So am I… I’m a… I have a condition too.”

“Then you can help me. Maybe together we can break out of here.”

* * * *

He flopped back into the chair, dejected by a second failed attempt to break out of their charming bungalow prison. She slumped onto the edge of the bed. Not-Spike was miserable. Flesh-and-bone Buffy wasn’t much better. What was the point of all this? At least last time he had been himself, some version of himself. Even if he wasn’t real, this version seemed so lost that it just made her sad. What the hell was she supposed to do? She couldn’t even play the scene. The whole thing had started wrong. He hadn’t come in, righteously pissed off vampire on a mission, to shake her out of her self-pity. He didn’t even understand who he was, who she was, or who they were in relation to one another at any point in their epic six-year history. And that sucked. She swung her legs up onto the bed and propelled herself back to lean against the headboard, looked up at the ceiling and sighed, then over at him sitting forlornly in the chair.

_What the hell, worth a try._

“Hey,” she called out softly. He met her eyes again. So shy. So sweet. She ached to touch him.

“I… I think you’re supposed to be _here._ ” She slid over and patted on the bed beside her.

Wide-eyed he babbled, “I… you… there? I don’t think so.”

“I do.”

“Told you, I’m not a good man.”

“Well, you remind me of a good man I used to know. Like, a lot. He’s not here and you are.”

“That… doesn’t… make a lick of bloody sense. You invite some random bloke into your bed because he reminds you of some other bloke? Who bloody does that?” He seemed genuinely irritated at her and that sent a jolt of unreasoning hope through her.

“It’s not my bed,” she replied with a shrug.

“Not your…”

He blinked at her, shaking his head. She smiled serenely and patted the spot beside her again. He swept a hand through his hair. She continued to stare expectantly at him until he mumbled something unintelligible although she was pretty sure she’d caught the word _barmy_ in there. Eventually he stood up, clenched and unclenched his fists a few times then slowly, carefully approached the bed.

“Will you just hold me?”

He nodded diffidently then climbed in beside her. She folded herself into him the way she had that night. He held her tensely at first, like he was handling an explosive device that might go off at any moment, but slowly, incrementally relaxed until they were melted into one another like gooey, melty things were supposed to.

“I don’t…” he whispered after a while.

“Understand? Don’t try.”

“But I feel so… _odd_ around you.”

She chuckled softly and repeated, “Odd?”

“I just feel…” He glanced heavenward then sighed and repeated, “I just _feel._ ”

“So do I,” she murmured as she held him tighter.

* * * *

Curled up in this not-Spike’s… William’s arms, Buffy was no longer eager to put an end to this dream, hallucination, mirage, psychotic freakin break… whatever it was, she didn’t care. She thought back on that night, on what Spike had given her, how he’d given her the resolve to do what needed to be done. She knew she was a hard case, but that’s not how he’d made her feel. He’d made it seem like loving her was so natural, so inevitable, that whatever it had cost him had been totally irrelevant. Oh, he’d rail against it occasionally, drop a remark about the hell she’d put him through, but at the end of the day he’d always fall in step beside her as if doing anything else were unthinkable. She felt him tense again and looked up into his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“You’re crying.”

“Am I?” She touched her wet cheek and said, “I guess I am.”

“Why are you sad?”

“I don’t… it’s… a long story.”

“About him, isn’t it? That other bloke, what I remind you of.”

“Just remembering,” she replied with a sad smile.

“Envy him,” he muttered, blinking away from her.

“You shouldn’t,” she replied with a frown.

“Why not? Got the idea you two were…”

“We were… sort of… then we weren’t. It’s… complicated.”

“He got to be with you. For a time, anyway.”

“You’re with me right now.”

“Not the same. Maybe I… I should get up… go back to the chair, let you rest.” He made a move to get up, but she held fast.

“You weren’t kidding about being strong,” he observed.

“No, I was not.”

“Please let me up.”

“Why?”

“Because you look…. and smell… makes me… makes me think things I’ve no business thinking. Makes me… wish,” he added softly.

She bit her lower lip. The abrupt turn in the conversation had steered her mood right along with it. William wasn’t constrained by their tons of emotional baggage nor the threat of impending doom that had hung over this night in real life. All he knew was that he was trapped in a house with a strange woman – a woman who claimed to know him, made ludicrous suggestions about his identity, then invited him to curl up in bed with her. A woman that he had nevertheless taken an obvious liking to. Of course, he had. She was Buffy. And Spike was in there somewhere.

Sweeping her hand down the front of his soft black t-shirt, she enjoyed the sensation of his muscles quivering beneath her fingertips then inquired in a low voice, “What do you wish?”

“Can’t… shouldn’t… you should really let me up.”

“What if I don’t want to? What if I’m wishing the same thing you are?”

“You don’t… you can’t.”

“What if I told you that I do, and I can?”

“You…”

Buffy was up on her knees straddling his lap and silenced him with a kiss, a tender press of her lips to his. She drew back. William’s expression reminded her of another time, another kiss, only that time his beautiful face had been battered and bloodied after withstanding torture at the hands of a hellgod he’d have let kill him. For Dawn. For her. Which had hardly been worse than the condition she had left him in the following year when he had allowed her to take out all of her rage and self-loathing on him before leaving him to somehow drag himself back to the safety of his crypt, how he’d managed she had never even bothered to inquire. And yet, a little more than a year after that, and despite all the physical pain he had endured as a direct result of his association with her which she knew paled in comparison to the emotional pain, he had crouched at her feet in a room that looked like this one and declared that he had never believed in anyone or anything as much as he believed in her.

“What I see in your eyes when you look at me… can hardly believe… don’t deserve…”

“Do you trust me?” she interrupted. He nodded solemnly.

“Then believe me when I tell you that you do,” she continued, tenderly cupping his cheek.

He nuzzled into her caress then reached up to place his hand over hers, guide it to his lips and kiss her palm. She sighed. It felt so good to touch him. To be touched by him. Maybe this was how she would live out the rest of her life, escaping reality every few months to enjoy stolen moments with a ghost. What the hell, she could think of worse fates and, anyway, she didn’t want to think about reality or the rest of her life. She didn’t want to think. Period. She just wanted to feel. She looked into those beautiful eyes full of wonder and desire and a single thought shoved aside all others.

_I could just eat you up._

Buffy smiled rakishly and William gulped, which was so ridiculously adorable and gorgeous and sexy that she leaned in to kiss him again, this time more insistently as she sank down to bring the lower half of her body into contact with his and, _ohmygodyes_ , there he was hard and all hers and, oh yes, she was going to gobble him up, drive him crazy, make him forget his name, and … oh wait, he had already forgotten his name… well, maybe she’d make him remember it. She hadn’t gotten around to this with homicidal Spike in old Sunnydale High and while she had for real a few times back in the bad old days, it had been to either shut him up or make a point. Sometimes both. It had never been an act of tenderness, of affection, of love.

She drew back and he leaned forward to chase her lips. She allowed him to catch her for a few more heated kisses because while this version might not remember who or what he was, bless his heart, he had not forgotten how to kiss. Eventually she shoved him back against the headboard and pinned him there with a palm pressed firmly to the center of his yummy-yummy chest. Speaking of…

“Take off your shirt,” Buffy commanded in a whisper then allowed him to sit up again.

William blinked away from her with that irresistible shy and uncertain look but sat up and pulled his t-shirt over his head then tossed it aside. Easing him back against the headboard and starting at his jawline, she peppered him with kisses, licks and gentle nips. When she moved to his neck, he emitted a sharp gasp and his entire body jerked.

_Not a vampire, my ass._

She smiled against his flawless alabaster skin as she moved on to his shoulders, enjoying the change in texture from hard bone to firm muscle to pliant flesh. As she moved down to his chest, she felt him trying to tug her up again and gently pushed his arms aside to continue her feast. When she reached his nipples the sound he made went straight to her core, her body aching for him, but she could wait. As she moved lower and her breasts brushed his erection his low moan was like music to her ears. When she tongued his navel he squirmed, making her smirk. She noticed him clutching the bedsheet and looked up at him adoringly to ask a question she already knew the answer to.

“Would you like to touch my hair?” He nodded desperately.

She smiled and offered, “Go ahead, then.”

His hands were in her hair, threading his fingers through her locks, stroking her scalp. Something flickered in a faraway part of her consciousness, which she ignored and moved lower towards her ultimate goal.

“What are you… you’re not…”

Gazing up at him with a predatory gleam in her eye as she set about unbuckling his belt she purred, “I’ll bet you taste as good as you look, William.”

The look he gave her – equal parts kid on Christmas Morning and unbridled lust – was _all Spike._ He had always contained multitudes. Even as her mortal enemy he had been a paradox, and that had intrigued her from the beginning. He had always been more than just an adversary. Always pushing her. Pushing her buttons. Pushing back at her. Pushing her forward.

_God, what if he had never come to Sunnydale?_

Shaking off the unthinkable, she unbuttoned and unzipped his bulging fly. He hissed in relief. Moving aside the heavy denim fabric she took hold of him and swept her hand up and down his shaft then looked up again to find his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Open your eyes, William,” she ordered sweetly as she continued to stroke him.

“I want you to watch me savor you.”

He slowly opened his eyes to meet hers and they were full of adoration and wonder. Buffy smiled and, holding his gaze, took him into her mouth. Slowly. Slowly. Tickling him with her tongue, occasionally applying light pressure with her teeth (because whether he knew it or not, hello, vampire), giving due attention to his _knackers_ – the off-color British vocabulary she had picked up during their disastrous affair had served her well since relocating to London – and while she had never really done this in good faith before, she hadn’t forgotten what he liked. She poured every emotion she had felt watching him light up like a torch on the Hellmouth, every emotion she had felt since he had gone, and everything she was feeling remembering what had really happened in this room almost exactly two years earlier, into her actions. A twice-dusted vampire had left a hole in her life and she was making love to his ghost. Or her hallucination. Or something else. Hopefully not evil and world-endy because that would be awkward and maybe she should have thought of that earlier.

She mentally shrugged and continued to pleasure William in earnest, drawing it out by bringing him to the brink only to alter her technique and deny him because she knew making him wait would make it better for him. And she wanted nothing more than to make it better for him. His entire body was trembling, his expression equal parts tortured and blissed out. He was so beautiful that she wanted to consume him, to keep him inside her forever so that she would never have to let him go. So that she wouldn’t have to feel his absence anymore, everywhere she went and in everything she did.

“Pet, I… I’m gonna…”

Which she already knew because she remembered the way the perfect muscles of his abdomen would twitch just before he came. His fingers were more insistent on her scalp, trying to pull her up, pull her off him. As if she had any intention of going anywhere. She shook her head and redoubled her efforts then he emitted a strangled cry, his entire body going rigid as he spilled into her. She took it all, swallowing and swallowing, licking him clean then placing a dirty-sweet kiss on the tip of his penis. His expression was priceless. And so very pretty. Then his watery eyes fluttered closed and he urged her up with shaky hands whispering,

“Please come up here?”

Buffy crawled up his body and curled into his side, nuzzling and planting sweet little kisses to his jawline while he recovered. After a few minutes, she noted that his caresses were becoming steadier, bolder and that, unsurprisingly, he was half-hard again. Her own body thrumming with unslaked need, she brought her lips to his ear and purred, “More, William?” then latched onto his earlobe and tugged.

“God, yes,” he groaned sliding down the headboard onto his back and taking her with him.

* * * *

William was splayed on his back, head lolling on the edge of the bed, right arm stretched out and dangling over the side. Buffy was sprawled face down half on top of him, head resting on his sternum, hair fanned across his torso. Except for his absently toying with a lock of her hair, neither showed any inclination to move. While not really their thing back in the day, beds were nice. Especially for the type of sweetly passionate lovemaking they’d just engaged in. Sometimes it was nice to emerge unscathed. Well, except she was pretty sure that he’d left a perfect set of black and blue fingerprints on each of her hips and that there were probably a few scratches on his back… and those cute little butt cheeks of his that fit so nicely in her hands.

She lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest and asked, “How ya doing there, buddy?”

With a look of sleepy contentment, he replied, “Feel warm. Don’t think I’ve ever been so warm. You’re warm. Like the sun.”

_Well yeah, compared to you because you’re dead, ya big dope._

“Buffy,” he said with such reverence it was like he was offering a prayer.

“That’s me,” she replied with a lopsided smile.

“Am I dreaming you?”

“Maybe I’m dreaming you.”

Craning his head back towards the window he frowned and observed, “Still gotta find our way out of here. Sooner or later.”

“I know,” she agreed with an expression mirroring her sinking heart. A physical sensation registered, and she added, “But before I do any thinking, I gotta hit the little girl’s room,” then rolled away from him to swing her legs over the end of the bed.

“Not a little girl.”

“So, you noticed,” she shot over her shoulder with a smirk as she scanned her immediate surroundings for her… anything to put on, spotted his t-shirt near her feet, and reached down to grab it then pulled it over her head.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

She stood up, turned to him, and with a wry smile responded, “Well, you’ve seen all of me there is to see so thanks!”

He grinned up at her and observed, “You glow.”

Buffy looked down at her feet then muttered, “Not so much these days.”

_Or maybe it’s that you’re not around anymore to notice when I do._

* * * *

The sadness had settled in deep on the short walk to the bathroom. She dragged herself to her feet, flushed then stood at the sink and stared at her reflection as she turned on the tap to wash her hands. She blinked. Twice. Furrowing her brow, she glanced over at the toilet as the tank noisily refilled then back at her own reflection.

_I just peed._

_In a dream._

_Or hallucination._

_Or whatever._

_I peed?_

_I peed!_

Then, in rapid succession, a bunch of other things occurred to her because while she may be a bit slow on the uptake, once she got going there was no stopping her. The house had power. The first thing she had done when she awoke was turn on the light in the bedroom. She was staring into her reflection because the bathroom light had gone on when she flicked the switch. That wasn’t right. That was the night Sunnydale in its entirety, including the power company, had been abandoned. Second, her hair was down. Had been since she woke up, which also didn’t fit because that last year she hadn’t worn it down often, keeping it as she had kept everything about herself – tamed and controlled to deal with the crisis at hand – and she was certain it had not been down that night. More importantly, she _had_ pulled out her ponytail in the bathroom when she had returned home from patrol. But the real kicker was that the clothing William had taken such pleasure in removing like he was unwrapping a gift was _not_ what she had been wearing that night in Sunnydale. It was the utilitarian cargo pants, tank top and chambray shirt she had put on to patrol Southwark with three other slayers to keep a close eye on drunks stumbling out of the pubs in and around Borough Market on a mild spring evening. The clothing she had been wearing when she had flopped onto her own bed and passed out from sheer exhaustion.

“Oh my God!” she yelped into her wide-eyed reflection then shut off the tap and grasped either side of the sink basin to steady herself.

If _THIS is REAL, then HE’S…_

Buffy flung open the bathroom door with such force that the hinges creaked then stopped dead in her tracks in the hallway. At the other end of which stood William… make that Spike, stark naked, clutching a demon by the throat and pinning him against the wall a good foot off the ground, his quarry’s feet kicking futilely for purchase. The demon was familiar to her.

_Container yard… Tilbury… the one that got away. What the…_

Turning to look at her with amber eyes, Spike shot her a fangy smile and announced cheerfully, “Hey Buffy, I think you’re spot on about the vampire thing!”

The only reply she could muster was a slow nod.

**TBC**


	5. Wipe it all away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Relay' by Fiona Apple off 'Fetch the Bolt Cutters' (2020)

Buffy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. With a twitch of her lips she concluded that _I Don’t Know Whether to Laugh or Cry_ wouldn’t be a half-bad title for her life story. That they could make into a movie…. starring… Reese Witherspoon! She was picturing the movie poster and considering casting the other roles while she waited for Giles to finish cleaning his glasses. Not that she could blame him under the circumstances – she kind of wished she had a pair of glasses to clean – but she wanted to wrap this up as quickly as possible then head to the infirmary to check on Spike. Besides, movies were a bit of a sticky subject at the moment… and she immediately apologized to herself for the really unfortunate pun.

“So, it wasn’t just a select group of rich demon creepers? A few humans saw it too?”

Holding his glasses up to the light Giles replied, “The Immortal reportedly rented out the Baths of Caracalla for the live simulcast. Tickets apparently ran in the tens of thousands of euros. To put that into perspective, it’s where the Three Tenors performed in the run up to the 1990 World Cup held in Italy that year.”

“Oh.” She felt heat rise in her cheeks.

“Indeed.”

Buffy slumped into a chair across the desk from him and dropped her head into her hands then groaned, “Yay, I’m a porn star! Mom would be so proud.”

Giles put his glasses back on then responded, “None of this is your fault, Buffy. You had no idea you were being filmed. You were sedated in your own home through the ventilation system – a vulnerability which I have already engaged a contracting firm to address, by the way, so expect a call early next week to set up a time for them to come round – then abducted and imprisoned on the orders of Marcus van der Duyn. Who, as it happens, is a Stenochorian.”

“What the hell is _that_?”

“The Stenochorian are an ancient demon clan capable of reading and exploiting human memories, thoughts and emotions to their desired ends. Which are inevitably self-serving and bad news for their human victims. I had never encountered one before but was always led to believe that they still walk among us. Van der Duyn is from an old aristocratic family which, like many old families of Europe, retain a minor title but no longer have the wealth to back it up. The chap needed to get a day job but apparently felt that a day job was beneath him. Instead he capitalized on his unique bloodline to prey on the alienated, desperate, and marginalized to live in the manner to which he felt entitled. We were threatening his appallingly lucrative human trafficking operation, which catered exclusively to wealthy contacts human and otherwise, so the intention was to create an opportunity to extort the Council while _neutralizing_ you with this stunt. Of course, making the mistake of underestimating you… you both.”

“When I got the Cliff’s Notes version the other day, I was told that this Van Der Beek dude could only use what I was really feeling. He couldn’t _make me_ feel those things, Giles.” She was determined that _everyone_ understand that now.

He nodded once in acknowledgment, shot her a brief but warm and compassionate smile then was all business again as he explained, “It’s van der Duyn and, yes, he was able to tap into your feelings for Spike when his associates lured you to the port to inject you with a powerful psychotropic compound, a _Stenochorian truth serum_ of sorts, to ascertain where you were emotionally vulnerable. After that, it was a matter of setting the scheme in motion and selling his product to the highest bidder… or, rather, bidders.” His tone and expression telegraphed a desire to tear the scumbag limb from limb if he could, which warmed Buffy’s heart.

“But… Spike… how?”

“Through our interview with his first lieutenant, whom you’ve had the displeasure twice I believe, we learned that another member of van der Duyn’s inner circle was in Los Angeles late last summer and heaven knows what he was up to at the time but he stumbled upon Spike, half-starved and living in a derelict culvert in a bleak section of town with apparently no memory of what or who he is or how he came to be there.”

“He was there _the whole time!_ ” she wailed, feeling slightly sick. Laughing was officially off the table.

“Well, we’re not entirely sure. It appears likely that he did in fact dust in the Circle of the Black Thorn fiasco and was resurrected, although why or by whom we do not know. That would explain his…” Giles cleared his throat and continued, “current mental state.”

“Jeez, ya think?” she interjected. She had been yanked out of heaven; given his history, she didn’t even want to think about what it was like, what he had been subjected to, where he had been.

“Unfortunately, he remains unable to offer much on the matter himself, but they had apparently identified him straightaway and, Spike having achieved a fair amount of notoriety, deemed him an asset. He was brought over here and put up in a garden shed on the property of the home of a member of van der Duyn’s household staff – a woman employed at an estate, a listed property he acquired recently in Hampshire. By all accounts she is blameless in all this and has been looking after Spike in good faith, made it comfortable for him. She’s an older woman who emigrated to the UK about 20 years ago after the death of her husband and teenage son in an automobile accident. She has no other family to speak of and appears to have developed a rather motherly attachment to him.”

“Spike’s good with mothers,” Buffy stated with a sad smile. She was hit by a wave of gratitude and affection for a woman she had never met and added, “We need to make sure she’s alright.”

“Someone was sent to interview her; she was cooperative, and we do not believe anyone in van der Duyn’s organization would have reason to harm her. She is unlikely to have any detailed knowledge of his operation and had very little in the way of personal interaction with him. Besides, Stenochorians are parasitic, profiting on human frailty, but they are not especially prone to physical violence although they will employ other demons to do their dirty work, as you have experienced firsthand. At worst, she and her colleagues are likely out of a job if their employer needs to retrench or sell up to cover what will no doubt be considerable legal fees. And, of course, the loss of additional income she was receiving as Spike’s caretaker.”

“I can’t believe he’s been here… so close… all this time.”

“I know that Willow feels terrible, but I am fairly convinced that he was truly gone for some interval, albeit brief, and that once he was back a degree of self-awareness would be required for a location spell to work.”

“Spike would have to know that he was Spike for Willow to be able to find him.”

“Precisely. Otherwise it would make locating him extremely difficult at best. It is also possible that van der Duyn’s people were cloaking his location as a precautionary measure until they found some use for him.”

“Enter Buffy,” she remarked with a sigh.

“I assure you that we have secured most of the… materials that were formally distributed to van der Duyn’s clients and are making excellent progress on the rest – a lot of powerful and influential people do not want to find their names in the newspaper – but…” The glasses were off again.

“I knew there would be a ‘but,’” she muttered. There were two butts, actually, and lots of other parts in all their technicolor glory.

“There was the live… event, which opened the door to bootlegging and, well, in the Age of the Internet…”

“There’s probably an oily car salesman in Peoria watching me bl… watching me with Spike on his office computer so his wife doesn’t catch him.”

Clamping his eyes tightly shut and pinching the bridge of his nose, Giles responded, “Alas.”

Laughing was back on the table.

* * * *

“Ms. Summers, a word?” the doctor called out from behind her when she was almost to the door of Spike’s room.

Her shoulders slumping, she cast her eyes heavenwards then plastered a polite smile on her face, turned around to face her and replied, “Sure.”

The doctor’s expression was unreadable, but her voice was kind as she nodded in the direction of the staff lounge and offered, “Just put the kettle on. Join me for tea?”

Buffy shrugged and followed her into the lounge, taking a seat at the table while the doctor went to the counter to finish preparing a pot of tea. As she was placing items on a plate, she broke the silence.

“I’m told that William is rather fond of these biscuits. Likes to dip them in his mug. Unusual combination.”

“He also likes Weetabix and burba weed.”

“I’ll make a note for the ward hostess, thank you. I’m lucky to have found anything for tea in the cupboard. The staff has grown rather fond of him.”

“The _mostly female_ staff. There’s a shocker,” Buffy replied with a roll of her eyes then added, “And if there’s any sponge bath action going on, it better be Louie doing the bathing.”

Louie was at least 6’5, easily 250 lbs. and had _Mother_ tattooed on his left forearm. Louie had done time at Shepton Mallet Prison but, having paid his debt to society, had stayed out of trouble since and was both a trusted and well-liked employee of the Council. The doctor turned with the tea tray, a faint remnant of a smirk gracing her lips, and assured, “William is physically capable of seeing to his own personal hygiene. He has no physical limitations, as you are well aware.”

Buffy blushed and muttered, “Me and the Internet.”

As she approached the table the doctor explained, “I _was_ referring to the fact that the two of you were able to overtake and subdue your captors and free several other unfortunate young people being kept in that horrible compound in Harringay.” Setting the tray on the table she took a seat and inquired “Shall I?” then set about pouring their tea and continued, “ _Physically,_ William is fine. Emotionally, he’s… well, you have some idea of the condition he is in. He is adjusting to several things at once, one of which is coming to terms with the fact that he is indeed a vampire. Another being that you are a slayer which, as logic dictates, makes you natural enemies. And, of course, his immediate powerful attachment to you and the consequent… proceedings.”

“That’s a really polite way of saying I jumped his bones because I thought he was a figment of my imagination.”

“Ms. Summers…”

“ _Way_ more people than I ever thought would see me naked have seen me naked, call me Buffy.”

“Buffy, the reason I wanted to have a word was to check in on how _you’re_ doing. My ex-husband might tell you otherwise depending on his mood, but I _am_ a human being and can see that you have been through quite a lot these past few months, _the last decade_ from what I hear. I know your type because _I am_ your type. Best face forward. Never let them see you sweat.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you? Because I wouldn’t be. And it’s Rosalind, by the way,” the doctor tacked on then took a sip of her tea in a manner intended to convey that there was no way out of this. Buffy felt like she was back in the high school library, looking over the top of Giles’s glasses, on the verge of a confession so that he would get on with the lecture so she could go home, eat dinner, and at least make an attempt at homework before it was time to patrol.

She sighed then began, “Ok, since you asked, I’m… totally fucked up, that’s how I am. I should feel violated and outraged and disgusted that some van-de-whatever-creep has been poking around in my mind, that I was drugged twice and kidnapped out of my own home, out of my own _bed,_ that total strangers paid to watch me have sex. And I do feel that way… about all of it… but it’s nothing… _nothing…_ compared to _all_ the relief and joy I am feeling right now because he is real, he is safe, and he is here. I am happier than I have been in… I can’t even remember how long. So, Rosalind, what does that make me?”

“You want my clinical diagnosis?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“You’re in love.”

* * * *

Buffy knocked softly then called “William?” through the door, which flew open immediately.

“Buffy!” he declared with a wide smile then pulled her into his arms for a tight hug and buried his nose in her hair then whispered, “I was hoping you would visit today. Thought I felt you earlier but when I opened the door, you weren’t there.”

“I was talking to Ros... to Dr. Franklin for a little while.”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too. How are you feeling?”

“Fine, thank you. Everyone is very kind to me here but I…” He drew back then pressed his forehead to hers and added, “I miss you all the time.”

“I know, and I miss you too, but right now it’s best if you stay here and let these nice people look after you.”

“You could look after me,” he replied in a tone of voice that reminded her to keep the door open.

“Dr. Franklin and her team think you should be here for your own good.”

“Could run off, like we did before. I’d have no trouble leaving if I set my mind to it. Even with Louie watching me like a hawk… and being built like a lorry.”

_Uh-oh._

Placing her hands on either side of his head, Buffy looked intently into his eyes and fashioning her face into as stern an expression she could muster while fighting the urge to kiss him until she ran out of oxygen, she cautioned, “That wouldn’t be very nice, would it, William? When everyone has been so nice?”

“Not supposed to be nice, am I? Vampire, remember?”

“You’re different, you know that. You have a soul.”

“So they tell me,” he replied on a sigh.

“You’ll stay put? Do what the people here tell you to do?”

“Yes,” he conceded, rolling his eyes then shot her another smoldering look and purred, “But can’t help it… can’t stop, can I? Think about it. All the time. That night. What we did. How much I want to do it again.”

Buffy didn’t reply right away, because she knew she had to formulate a responsible, adult response. Which would be a lot easier if she didn’t feel the same way he did. And he wasn’t so close. But he had been through a lot and sex, even really good sex, wasn’t going to make it all better for him now any more than it had made it all better for her then. She was determined that it would be different for them this time.

She finally settled on, “When we’ve figured this all out, we can spend more time together. _A lot more._ I promise. You believe me, don’t you?”

“Of course, pet. Will you stay with me for a little while then? Promise to be a gentleman,” he asked sweetly as he pulled her further into the room towards the bed.

“William…” she warned, doing her best schoolmarm imitation even as her smile gave her away.

“Only place to sit together. Promise to behave myself.”

He kept his promise. Mostly.

* * * *

“Shoe… I need my shoe,” Buffy muttered as she searched frantically for the mate to the one she had put on.

Crouching, she felt blindly under the bed and located the renegade footwear item then bolted up and hopped on one foot towards her bedroom door as she put it on. Of course, Dr. Franklin’s call – the call she had been waiting for, for weeks – _would_ come late in the evening on the first night in she couldn’t remember how long that she had not only gone to bed, but had actually fallen asleep, early.

_He remembers._

_Spike’s back._

She grabbed her jacket off the hook and pulled it on, her hands shaking as she dug through the pockets to make sure she had her house keys, key card to get into HQ (forgetting it at this hour was a royal pain in the ass) and cash for a taxi. She hastily counted the bills to make sure she had enough – although she supposed she could bust into petty cash at HQ if she was short – then bolted out the door.

Even in light traffic, the ride seemed excruciatingly slow. She bobbed her knee impatiently in the back of the cab. Stared vacantly out the window at the passing scenery. Her heart raced. Her palms were sweaty. Her stomach was full of butterflies.

_Spike’s back._

_He’s really here._

_And he remembers._

There was so much she wanted to ask him, so much she wanted to tell him. Would they release him? Allow her to take him home with her? Maybe not. Probably not tonight, not at this hour. They’d probably want to keep him under observation for another day or two, just to make sure he was okay. Fine. But she wasn’t leaving him. She was staying with him. And shutting the door to his room. They’d better learn to knock and if they didn’t, they’d get an encore command performance because if he reached for her she was going to him. There would be no stopping her. She expelled a deep sigh of relief when the taxi turned onto the block occupied by the complex of buildings that composed Council HQ.

“Right here is good!” she announced a little too loudly.

The cabbie nodded and pulled up to the curb. Before he could even tell her what she owed she thrust all the money she had at him and flew out of the taxi. She took the steps two at a time and was fumbling with her key card, swearing under her breath, when the door opened and Giles was standing in front of her, his appearance suggesting that he, too, had been called out of bed.

“Thank you!” she declared then stood on her toes to give him a peck on the cheek as she passed.

“Buffy, wait! I think you should…” he called after her but whatever news he had could wait; she had already rounded the corner and was charging down the long hallway towards the infirmary, her heart thumping in her chest.

She all but blasted through the double doors leading into the infirmary then stopped dead in her tracks. Her expression morphing from excitement to bewilderment to dread, she asked, “What the hell happened?”

Dr. Franklin looked up from where she was tending to Louie, seated on the floor with his back propped against the wall next to the wide-open door to Spike’s room and holding an ice pack to his head.

“I’m so sorry, Buffy,” she replied.

“I’m afraid he’s gone.”

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the name of the infirmary doctor rings a bell, it should, because she's named in honor of an unsung hero in the story of how we came to understand DNA. If you don't know her name then you should: <https://www.biography.com/scientist/rosalind-franklin>


	6. Because I only like the way I look when looking through your eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from 'Cosmonauts' by Fiona Apple off 'Fetch the Bolt Cutters' (2008)

“How are you doing?” Willow asked after their fancy afternoon tea (her idea) – the whole shebang complete with an elegant 3-tier cake stand filled with dainty sandwiches, scones and dessert pastries – had been set out between them.

“I’m busy. A new cohort has cycled into HQ and I’m getting the place ready for Dawn to come back. I’ve been a bit slack on the household organization while she was gone. In other words, my crap is everywhere and I’m wading through it.”

“I didn’t ask _what_ you are doing, I asked _how_ you are doing,” Willow remarked then lifted the pretty tea cup - reminding Buffy of the little tea set she’d had as a kid – to her lips for a sip. For a few moments, Buffy occupied herself with plucking a couple finger sandwiches off the serving plate and placing the items on her own plate then dropped her hands into her lap and sighed.

“That bad, huh?”

“I can’t… I don’t even know where to begin.”

“So, you haven’t heard from him.”

“No.”

“I’m sure you will when… when he’s ready.”

“I’m not.”

“This is Spike we’re talking about. Staying away from you for good isn’t his thing.”

“He’s done a pretty good job for two years.”

“This past year he didn’t know who he was.”

“He knew who he was the year before that and pfft,” Buffy pointed out then took a vicious bite of an egg salad and watercress sandwich and concluded that tea sandwiches were not optimal heartache-binge-eating fare. They were just too… _delicate._ She needed something fattening and sloppy like pizza or… _and_ wings… _spicy Buffalo wings_.

_“Were you born this big a pain in the ass?”_

_“What can I tell you, baby. I’ve always been bad.”_

She sighed again. Willow smiled encouragingly and said, “Well, as long as there’s life… I mean, _unlife_ , there’s hope, right?”

_Way to go, Buffy, keep up with the whining. Tara didn’t get a do-over and if anyone deserved one…_

“Jesus, Will, I must seem like the most self-involved jerk on the planet. _Of course,_ I’m beyond relieved and just grateful that he’s alive… well, you know, _ish_. That’s a good thing. For everyone. For the world. I truly believe that. And I don’t blame him for taking off, really. That’s on me.”

“How do you figure?”

“The year we were… _seeing_ each other we weren’t close. God knows he wanted to be, but I wouldn’t… couldn’t let him. But by the end, in Sunnydale, we were even though we _weren’t…_ you know, _together_ that way. Or, at least, I was starting to let him in and wanted to be close but there was just so much at stake and I had like zero bandwith to deal with _emotions_ and then I… I really blew it. When Angel showed up, I kissed him. Spike saw us. I thought I had explained what it meant, or _didn’t,_ but I guess after years of listening to me compare him to Angel – and not in a good way – he didn’t believe me. He didn’t believe me.”

_“I love you.”_

_“No you don’t, but thanks for saying it.”_

  
“Didn’t believe?”

“That I loved… that I love him.” Buffy angrily swiped a tear from her cheek then added, “Of course, I only told him once and picked like the _worst possible time_ so…” She shrugged then went on, “And what do I do when he’s back? I treat him like… like a piece of meat. Like it was all about… like before. I mean, it was _an accident_ this time, but I guess when he remembered… remembered _everything,_ he didn’t want to get kicked in the head again and watch me run away, virtue fluttering. Like I said, can hardly blame him.”

“Balderdash!” Willow challenged.

“Balderdash?” Buffy repeated, blinking at her.

“It wasn’t like that, and you know it. You were sweet to each other. Tender. The way you looked at each other… no one was using, and no one was being used.”

“How do you… wait… OH. MY. GOD. _You saw it._ ” She buried her face in her cloth napkin.

“We had to make sure that the discs we retrieved were the real deal – no bait and switch. Someone had to do it, so Giles asked me _and only me_ to verify the contents of each one before personally destroying it. I watched at double speed and, even then, it was obvious.”

“What?”

“Well, a few things. First, you are beautiful, my friend, and I don’t just mean the way you look but the way you give of yourself to those you love. Second, Spike… whoa. If I thought more guys were that… motivated, I might be tempted to give it another try. Third, while he _didn’t remember_ being in love with you, it didn’t matter because he so obviously _felt it._ He _worships_ you. He _adores_ you. _”_

Buffy didn’t respond, her eyes dropping to her teacup. Willow reached down into her bag and produced a jewel case then slid it across the table towards her and assured, “Last copy. I’ve _enhanced_ the case so it’s stronger than diamond and you’re the only one who can open it. Anyone else gets a hold of it and they’ll destroy the CD trying to get the case open. You don’t have to open it. You never have to open it if you think it’ll make you feel… if it’s too traumatic. If you sit with it for a while and decide that you _never_ want to see it then give it back to me and it’s history. But maybe…”

She looked up to meet the eyes of one of the people she most loved and trusted in all the world, and probably the _only_ person with whom this conversation was in any way bearable, then Willow continued, “If you think you can handle it, it might be worth having a look to… to see that I’m not totally off my rocker. Either way, this is _yours_. It doesn’t matter who’s seen it, it belongs _to you._ ”

Placing her hand over her friend’s where it rested on the case, Buffy offered a warm, “Thank you.”

“Anytime only… can we really… not?”

“I’ll drink to that,” Buffy stated as she raised her teacup in salute.

* * * *

Buffy had dropped the jewel case onto the kitchen table and left it there, where it would immediately draw her eyes whenever she’d enter the room. Even so, it had taken her eight days. She had awakened early for a Saturday and seized the opportunity to indulge in a long run, the kind that made her feel energized yet relaxed and endorphin buzzed and… really, really hungry. A hunger she was able to satisfy guilt-free after clocking in what had easily been 10k with a carbo-loaded breakfast at the café near her house. When she got home, she took a long shower and luxuriated in the fact that she didn’t have anything in particular to do or anywhere in particular to be. She didn’t even remember making a conscious decision; all she knew was that sometime that morning the notion had settled into her consciousness that today would be the day. So, after showering she combed out but did not bother to dry her hair then padded barefoot into the kitchen in her bathrobe to grab the case.

While she was grateful for Willow’s power, she was reminded that it was still sometimes intimidating as she felt a mild jolt of energy pass through her when she opened the case. Setting it aside she held up the disc and just stared at it for a few moments. She shivered at the thought that it had been in the possession of a stranger, a really gross stranger, someone who’d paid to watch her most intimate moments, but then she recalled Will’s words.

_“It doesn’t matter who’s seen it, it belongs to you.”_

“Damn straight,” she muttered under her breath then popped the CD into the player, settled onto the couch with her legs tucked under her, and hit play.

Biting her lip in anticipation, she watched as the black screen was replaced with the image of her on the bed with her back propped up against the headboard (someone had obviously edited out the earlier G-rated footage) and then she was hearing her own voice as she tried to convince Spike to join her. Man, it was weird watching a live-action video of herself and her own voice playing back to her had always sounded funny to her, even on something as ordinary as her outgoing voicemail message. But there was _nothing ordinary_ about this. With the camera trained on the bed, Spike didn’t enter the frame until he approached it. When he did, she drew in a shuddering breath and watched has he climbed onto the bed and she folded herself into him. She watched his face evolve from nervousness to tenderness as he relaxed into her caress. Followed by his implicit confession that he wanted her and the ensuing debate about whether he should get up, which she ended with a kiss. And then…

Buffy hit pause as a wave of panic rolled over her. Setting the remote aside, she got up and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Standing at the sink and gazing out her kitchen window, she sipped it slowly and drained the entire glass.

_“It doesn’t matter who’s seen it, it belongs to you.”_

Resettled comfortably on the sofa, she took a fortifying breath and hit play again. She didn’t hit pause or even blink away as she watched herself worship Spike the way she had wanted to ever since the first night after the destruction of Sunnydale when she lay wide awake in a bed next to her snoring sister and felt his absence materialize and settle in her chest like a tangible thing of weight and substance. From the angle it was shot, with her hair serving as a curtain, the act itself was more _Cinemax After Dark_ than _Vivid Video,_ and anyway she was soon so preoccupied with his face that she was hardly paying attention to what she was doing. The adorable look of panic as he had tried to pull her off him was chased away by an expression so otherworldly beautiful that it was... almost… _angelic._

She choked out a laugh at the sheer improbability of him. Who even _does that?_ Any of it? Who blasts into a person’s life intent on killing her then follows it up with _everything_ that came after? A whole bunch of things at the beginning that, at worst, were potentially life-threatening to her and people she loved and, at best, a nuisance. But what followed… Coming to her for a truce after she had crippled him. Befriending her mother when they were still very much in the _mortal enemies’_ category. To date, he remained her _only_ marriage proposal. Bare hand catching a sword thrusting towards her. Promising to protect her sister to the end of the world. He was totally ridiculous. And a miracle. A sort of twisted one. A totally ridiculous, sort of twisted miracle. And she ached for him, her body flushed with arousal from simply reliving every emotion to cross his handsome face as she fucked him with her mouth.

And, oh boy, now they were sliding down onto the bed together and soon clothing – mostly hers since he was already fairly exposed – was disappearing swiftly and they were most definitely wandering into _Vivid Video_ territory… except that Buffy’s boobs had obviously not been surgically enhanced. Spike didn’t care, he treated them like they were precious. _Like treasure._

_“It doesn’t matter who’s seen it, it belongs to you.”_

She intently watched herself open to him like she never had before. They took their time exploring one another and it was… _graceful._ _Like a dance._ They fit. They just fit. Skin gliding effortlessly against skin. Muscles flexing. Backs arching. Hips moving in exquisite counterpoint. Slowly, slowly building. At times it was frenzied but never clumsy. He was on top then she was on top then they were chest to chest, rocking and sipping on one another, speeding up then slowing down and sometimes barely moving. Smiling into kisses like they never had before, except that time long ago when they had been under a spell. They were completely present with one another. They had each other. They were safe together even though they were not in a safe place.

_Oh my God, Willow is right._

No one was being used. They were _lovers._ They were _partners._ Within an hour of making love they had fought their way out of what was for all practical purposes a dungeon for sex slaves, rescuing dozens of people in the process. Despite having no idea who he really was, Spike had been exactly who she needed in the fight just as he had been exactly who she needed in her arms. Will was also right that it didn’t matter how many people had watched them. What they had shared in the movie-set version of that bedroom in Sunnydale belonged to _her,_ to _them,_ just like the night they had spent together in the actual room two years earlier. Whatever the future held, no one would ever take that away from them, and heaven help anyone who tried.

* * * *

Buffy lay on the bed staring up at the ceiling of the quaint little room trying to calm her nerves. She and Dawn had visited a butterfly exhibit at the Natural History Museum in London that didn’t hold a candle to her stomach at the moment. What was taking the sun so damn long to set? Besides the fact that it was late spring in the Northern Hemisphere. Stupid seasons… okay, but why today _of all days_ did it have to be brilliantly, persistently sunny in a freakin’ country where it felt like she was walking around with wet feet 99% of the time? She turned her head to look out the window again to see everything cast in a deep orange glow signifying the dying embers of sunset. Finally. She hopped up and grabbed her cosmetics bag then headed into the hallway towards the bathroom she shared with the room across from hers which was, she had been pleased to discover, currently vacant. She returned to her room wearing discreet hints of makeup (that had never mattered to him) and having brushed out her hair to bring out the natural wave and shine (which most definitely had) then sat down on the edge of the bed and waited, hoping that her intel (her intel being Eddie, the proprietor of the establishment) was right.

_“Have you seen a guy around here? Young… ish… not sure how he’s wearing his hair these days… or what name he’s using… but handsome, blue eyes. Deep blue. Fair skin… like really fair. Not tall but lean… and muscular?”_

_“Who’s asking?”_

_“My name is Buffy. Buffy Summers. I’m visiting from London.”_

_“You’re the bird, aren’t you?”_

_“Which bird is that?”_

_“One he’s frowning over his bitter over, one he’s sure he’ll never be worthy of, I reckon.”_

_“Yeah, that would be me.”_

_“Staying local?”_

_“I’m… well, I hadn’t thought that far ahead but I guess so. Do you know anyplace nearby?”_

_“Matter of fact, I do. And I’d be willing to bet my bar on Spike making an appearance.”_

_“So, you know him pretty well.”_

_“Everyone in here knows him. Wears his heart on his sleeve, he does.”_

_“Both sleeves. So, about this place you know…”_

All she would have had to do is ask Giles for the address but after years of invading his space without asking, she didn’t want to handle it that way. Playing the most obvious of hunches she’d gone from pub to pub until she hit pay dirt. She had not only located Spike’s local but was now settled comfortably in one of the rooms upstairs. When the antique-looking phone on the bedside table trilled, she jumped then grabbed the receiver.

“The eagle has landed,” Eddie whispered to her. She rolled her eyes then hung up and hopped off the bed.

“Got a lodger,” she overheard from the top of the stairs.

“Cheers to that, know it’s been quiet with all the wet weather. Nicer today though. Hope for your sake it’s not a wanker from London. You know the type, some ponce with a job in the City looking for a bit of…”

“Something wrong, mate?”

“Yeah, I mean, no…”

Buffy smiled. He could feel her, knew she was nearby. Just like she could feel him. She crept down the stairs then turned the corner by the toilets and entered the pub. His eyes were affixed to his pint, but the tick of his jaw spoke volumes. Eddie raised both eyebrows at her then turned and went to the far end of the bar to see to a customer. It took all the willpower she could muster not to fling herself at him. She took a deep breath then casually walked over to the bar and took the seat next to him.

“You haven’t done your roots,” was the first thing that popped into her head to say.

“Haven’t gotten ‘round to it.”

“Where’s your duster? Did you lose it in the…?”

“Probably, but I have others. Peaches offered to ship them to me.”

“You’ve spoken… _on the phone_?”

“Had to get a few things off my chest, yeah.”

“I see you’ve met my lodger. What can I get you, love?” Eddie offered as he was passing.

“A pint of cider, please.”

“So, I’m the unwitting victim of a conspiracy then?”

“Mate, you wound me so. Did not set eyes on this exquisite creature until this afternoon. Isn’t that right, Miss Summers?”

“Yup and call me Buffy,” she responded with a winning smile. Spike’s scowl was so cute that she could barely contain herself.

“We have to talk,” she stated then took a sip of the pint Eddie had set down in front of her before moving away to stand at the far end of the bar and give them some privacy. He really was alright.

“Do we?”

“You know we do.”

“Don’t know anything of the sort.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Course not, what cause would I have to be mad at you?”

“That’s what I’ve been asking myself ever since you conked poor Louie on the head and took off.”

“He alright? Feel rotten about that.”

“He’s fine. Why did you run away?”  
  


“Long story.”

“I’ve got all night.”

“Pub closes at 11.”

“The room I have upstairs doesn’t.”

“Not a good idea, Summers.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t keep your sodding hands to yourself for a start.”  
  


“Oh,” she replied, looking down at her pint and biting her lip to stifle a smirk then offered, “I really do mean _talk,_ Spike. If I was looking for a booty call, London is full of opportunities.”

“What are you doing here, Buffy?” He asked, finally turning his head slightly to look at her and his expression was wary but also, no doubt despite his best efforts to conceal it, hopeful.

“You really remember… _everything?”_

“Yeah.”

“Then I don’t know how you could ask that question.”

* * * *

“Reason… _only_ reason we’re in the same bleeding room right now is a bunch of rich perverts were willing to pay heaps of dosh to watch us shag.” Spike stopped pacing her little room, which really seemed like more effort than it was worth, met her eyes and added, “How does that make you feel, Buffy?”

“Flattered?” she joked with a shrug from her seat on the edge of her bed. His answering look was poisonous. She had really missed his stink eye. Her expression must have said so.

“What in bloody blazes is wrong with you?” The pacing resumed.

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You were… _violated_ … and there _I_ was at the center of it… _again…_ and… and… here you sit looking at me like I… like you… like we…”

_Oh my God, of course…_

“Spike, sit down. You’re making me dizzy.” She patted the spot beside her. He eyed her warily. She rolled her eyes and added, “You’re cute and all but, contrary to popular belief, _I am_ capable of controlling myself.” He frowned at her again and it made her want to kiss the tension out of his forehead, but that would undermine her previous statement. He waited a beat then sighed, shook his head and sat down beside her.

“What happened _to us_ was really gross and wrong in all the ways. I didn’t even know it was _real…_ that it was _really you_ or you know I wouldn’t have just… but, compared to what we’ve been through… I mean, shitty as it is, this is something that _actually happens_ to _people_. Well, celebrities, if they count as people. But, here’s the thing, all those creepers can look but they can’t _touch_ us. They’re nothing to me. They don’t matter. _You_ matter. I’m okay, Spike. I really am.”

“Makes one of us.”

“Do you feel… regret… I mean, I had to practically _beg you_ to get into bed with me.”

He chuckled bitterly and replied, “God no. Turns out, I want you when I don’t even know who you are, or who I am. Fixed bloody law of nature, apparently. Isn’t a plane of existence where I don’t want to touch you every minute of every day and you bloody well know it.”

“Do I? You never came to see me. Or called. Or sent a fax, or email, or smoke signal, or carrier pigeon.”

“Buffy… how could I just? Made my grand exit, didn’t I? Then when I saw you again, you were…”

“I _so_ was not. Not with the Immortal. That wasn’t me.”

“Yeah, know that now. But, bugger, how can I explain? Resurrection will do a number on a bloke.”

“I know a little bit about that.”

“Yeah, well try doing it _twice…_ second thought, don’t… do that. Ever.”

Buffy smiled and took his hand, entwining her fingers with his, and replied, “Deal.”

“How can you be so… so… about this?”

“Easy. You’re here and you’re real. Remember after… after you came back and thought it would be better if you left Sunnydale for good?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember what I said to you?”

“Something about not being ready for me to leave.”

“I said that I wasn’t ready for you to not be here. I wasn’t ready then, I’m not ready now. I wasn’t ready all the time in between when you weren’t here, and I just had to live with it. You know why that is, Spike. You know why I reached for what I thought was a ghost or a dream or whatever.”

“Buffy… don’t…”

“I’m in love, Spike. With you. I love you.”

“You’re in…”

Spike was on his feet again then roared, “Bloody infernal woman!” and recommenced pacing.

“Can’t this scene go the way it does in the movies… _just once_?” Buffy muttered under her breath.

He stopped in front of her and shooting her a dubious look repeated, “You’re in love with me.”

“Just said so, didn’t I?”

He threw up his hands and demanded, “Why?!?!”

“Why?!?! What, you want _a list?_ After years of following me around like a lovesick puppy? I don’t know, you wore me down, you idiot! With your eyes and your face and your voice and all… your… parts… and being there, for me, for Dawn, and my _mother_ knew _exactly who you were_ and _liked you anyway…_ fighting by my side, being _what I needed_ even when I didn’t want you to be! And that was all _before_ you went off and _remade_ yourself! You _made me love you_ and now you get all _shirty_ and want to know _why?!?!”_

Glancing heavenwards, he shook his head then turned and flopped down beside her. Burying his head in his hands, he uttered into them, “Oh, pet, what if it all goes wrong again?”

“It probably will,” she replied with a shrug.

Looking over at her he remarked, “That your idea of a pep talk?”

She laughed and continued, “Shit happens. To everyone. Only difference is that when it happens to us it’s _literally_ the end of the world.”

“Don’t give up your day job for a career in motivational speaking.”

“If you’d let me finish… Sometimes things are going to go wrong. Other times they’re going to go right. Both are better with someone who… who knows you, who’s seen _the best and the worst of you_ , and loves you anyway. I won’t use words like _forever_ because, who we are and where we’ve been, what does that _even mean?_ All I know is that I don’t want to spend another night without you. Why would I? Why should we? Unless that’s… that’s not what _you_ want. In that case, you can get up and walk out of here. I’ll go back to London, ugly cry, watch bad movies and binge eat, only not tea sandwiches because they’re just _too fancy.”’_

Buffy wrinkled her nose then turned to find Spike looking at her in that way of his. Like she was both the most wondrous and ridiculous creature he had ever set eyes on. Like she was everything.

“Bugger me,” he muttered in surrender.

“Maybe, if you ask nicely. Only not tonight. I haven’t been sleeping well and I just want to sleep in your arms… mostly.”

He raised his eyebrows at her then growled, “Get over here!” and grabbed her around the midsection, dragging her into a giggling tangle on the bed with him.

**TBC**


	7. Epilogue: Coffee in the garden

Buffy opened her eyes, blinking several times in near-total darkness to orient herself. Registering the cool weight on her midsection she turned her head and could just barely make out the sleeping form beside her. She pressed a tender kiss to his cheek then slipped gently out of his arms and out of bed. She rooted around for the underwear he had taken immense pleasure in peeling off of her the night before and pulled them on then padded to the hook by the door where she kept a pair of lightweight drawstring workout pants and a t-shirt to throw on to leave their Keebler Elf love nest. She dressed then opened the door and slipped outside, squinting in the sudden brightness. She inhaled deeply and stretched then strode barefoot across the flagstone path towards the cottage. After a brief pit stop, she went into the kitchen to fix herself a French press as had already become her morning ritual.

It was nice to wake up in Hampshire after nearly two weeks in London dealing with Council business that had accumulated in her absence and welcoming Dawn home from Japan. She had invited Spike to accompany her, but he had demurred insisting that the Summers women needed time to catch up without the formerly evil undead getting in the way. She knew that the real reason, most of it anyway, was that he wasn’t sure if Dawn would want to see him, or what her reaction would be to Buffy and Spike officially becoming _Buffy and Spike._ Despite the fact the she had assured him, repeatedly, that he needn’t worry. He would understand soon enough that her sister was more than ready to retake her place as his _Little Bit, Nibblet, Snack Size_ and whatever other pet names he had for her. He would also overcome his skepticism about how Giles, Xander and Willow would feel about their relationship. Eventually. They had the luxury of time to sort these things out.

Her cup and French press in hand, Buffy went back outside and walked around the cottage to the side garden where she found Zuzanna seated at the patio table with a pot of tea and her gardening journal open, tapping her pen against it signifying that she was deep in thought. Buffy set down her coffee and took a seat but didn’t interrupt her. She had already grown fond of Spike’s landlady. There was something unobtrusively maternal about her that drew Buffy in. They understood each other.

“I think… maybe… night-flowering catchfly for back garden. Grows well here and blooms in the night.”

Buffy nodded then sipped her coffee. She didn’t have anything to offer on the topic of gardening but enjoyed sitting in the garden with Zuzanna and listening to her talk through her ideas. It reminded her of when her mother would talk to her about a new exhibit at the gallery.

“I did not have garden in Poland. We lived in city, in apartment. I had career at university, busy all the time. Same for my husband… he was _prawnik_ … lawyer. Our son was busy at school. We had bright hopes for his future. Was all changing in Poland then. He would do so much we never did. Then…” She sighed then shrugged and continued, “Now I garden. Try to make things grow. Make them live. It is… something.”

“Yes, it is,” Buffy agreed with a nod.

“William missed you. Visit with your sister was nice?”

“Yes, it was. I can’t believe how grown up she is. She’s getting ready to start college and I’m glad she decided to stay in the U.K. I missed her like crazy while she was away.”

“Invite her here for weekend if you like. She can stay with me in cottage.”

“Thank you, I think she’d like that.”

“About night-flowering catchfly… I thought if… if you and William will be here, would be nice.”

“That… that would be but I… I’ve thought a lot about it, and I’d like to split my time between here and London, and I can’t expect you to let me use your bathroom and kitchen indefinitely. Maybe we can find something… nearby?”

“William has not told you what he is thinking?”

“Um, no?”

Truth be told, neither had done much talking when Buffy first arrived the evening before. Later, curled together in the dark as Spike ran his fingers lovingly over the fresh bite mark on her shoulder making her tremble in the best possible way, they’d revisited their shared hallucination. They hadn’t pieced it together until he’d asked her about the attack at the container yard, which he had overheard reference to while at the infirmary. At the time, not knowing who he was, he had thought it was a dream – a confusing, frightening and strangely erotic dream. Afterwards, he’d assumed it had been his subconscious trying to tell him who he was, until they had begun to put two and two together and he remembered the visitor – the ‘doctor’ who’d come to check in on him one evening when Zuzanna had been working late cataloging several pieces of artwork that had just arrived at the estate. She hadn’t been able to wake him for dinner and had been so concerned that she’d called out of work the next day so he wouldn’t be left alone.

_“I just KNEW it was you,”_ Buffy had whispered in the darkness.

_“Always find you, I do,”_ Spike had murmured into her hair before they’d drifted off.

“Come, I show you,” Zuzanna advised then rose from her seat. Buffy followed her into the back garden and stood beside her in front of the shed.

“William says shed is built better than homes they build now. Can add water closet, shower for you, right there.” She pointed then continued, “As for kitchen, is meant for family. To cook for me alone… Eh?” she tacked on with a shrug.

Buffy considered the prospect of a vampire slayer shacking up on the regular with an ensouled vampire in a thatched shed behind the thatched cottage of a semi-retired archivist from Poland then smiled impishly. It was _so_ them _._

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she began. “When they brought him here, did they tell you his history? Who he was… _before?_ ”

“No. They told me only enough to care for him and to… protect myself… but all I saw in his eyes was kindness.”

“Then what made you call him William?”

“You will laugh but when I was child Mama would tell me stories of fair princes in magical kingdoms. When I first see him, I think he is like prince from Mama’s stories. Maybe cursed to live in darkness but fair and kind. At least to lonely old woman. William is good name for English prince, I think, so I call him William.”

As if on cue, the door to the shed opened and there stood their fair prince, careful to stay in the shade provided by the overhang of the thatched roof. Wearing only his jeans he ran a hand through his tousled hair as he blinked away sleep then said, “Blimey, but it’s bright out there. What are you two up to then?”

Buffy looked into Spike’s eyes and smiled.

**KONIEC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're asking yourself 'what the hell did I just read' then it's probably because this fic is largely the product of what my therapist calls 'Covid dreaming.' Throw in an erotic Spuffy dream another writer had described to me a while back, a dash of missing my late mother (who was nothing like the landlady in superficial ways but was very much like her at her core - she'd have totally looked after a confused vampire if he had kind eyes :-), a sprinkle of my falling head over heels in love again with my longtime partner during a global pandemic, and this is what you get.
> 
> Initially, I thought it was all about being trapped - in the literal sense as Buffy and Spike are victimized by a really shitty rich and powerful dude who exploits those less wealthy and powerful than he is (Ginger gestures broadly around her at everything), and in the metaphorical sense of Buffy being trapped in grief she struggles to name and Spike in his own fractured mind. But what I really think it's about is resilience, something I think a whole lot of people have learned a lot more about in the last year than in any other of my lifetime.
> 
> Finally, a funny thing happened in the middle of writing this. Right after Buffy had come to a major conclusion about the two vampires in her life, powerhouse (and future President of the United States if I have anything to say about it), Stacey Abrams, said exactly the same thing in a lot fewer words (as genius types tend to do) and blew up the Buffyverse. Which just added to the trippy experience of writing this.
> 
> Stay safe. Stay healthy. Be kind to yourself. :-)


End file.
